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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30139215">Wander Into My Mind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SergeantToMyCaptain/pseuds/SergeantToMyCaptain'>SergeantToMyCaptain</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amnesia, BrooklynBros, Bucky Barnes Friendly, Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky has one arm, Complete, Depression, Disabled!Bucky, ENDGAME DOESN'T OWN ME, Epic Bromance, F/M, First story on ao3, Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Men Being Affectionate, Men Crying, Men Crying Like They Weren't Socialized From The Womb To Be Rocks, Men Having Real Human Conversations, Natasha Romanoff (mention) - Freeform, Not Canon Compliant, Other, PTSD, Sam Wilson (Mention) - Freeform, Sharon Carter Friendly, Staron (mentioned/implied but not the focus), Steve Rogers Gets a Hug, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is Worthy, Suicide mention, Team Cap Was Right, White Tree, and wouldn't you know it, brooklynbrotp, could be read as romantic (but why would you want to), death mention, depends on your definition, gun mention, i did intend for there to be fluff... somewhere, integrative medicinal use (in this fic we use essential oils AND doc-prescribed drugs), just kiss your friends you cowards, not the first story I’ve written, oh you haven't cried since 'Nam but you think you'd grow crops with your tears? prove it, post-CATWS AU, saving Bucky, steve and bucky are an asexual love story, steve rogers friendly, supercharged angst, the hugs Marvel denied me specifically, this asexual author cannot relate sorz, this is too long and it took too long to write someone stop me from doing this again, trauma recovery is messy, welcome to the torrential downpour that lives rent free in my brain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:35:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,613</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30139215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SergeantToMyCaptain/pseuds/SergeantToMyCaptain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's been back with him for several months, but on some nights, coming home is like walking back into a war zone for Steve. Post-CATWS AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Steve Rogers, Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wander Into My Mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Banks/gifts">Griselda_Banks</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the exquisite Griselda Banks<br/>whose strength is engraved in my mind,<br/>devotion stitched into my heart,<br/>the "Inner Steve Voice" to my demons,<br/>and the insistent bird who saved my life.</p><p>This story wouldn’t exist without you;<br/>nor would I.<br/>Until all matter is again stardust, I love you. &lt;3</p><p> </p><p>~*~*~*~*~</p><p> <br/>Easy Soundtrack (if you like reading with music but not singing):<br/>10 Pieces by Ludovico Einaudi; performed by Jacob’s Piano (YouTube it, I beg of thee)</p><p>Extended Soundtrack (angst this out in no particular order):<br/>Brothers (Movie) Soundtrack, Thomas Newman ~ "Brothers (Main Title)"<br/>PVRIS ~ “Separate”; “You and I”<br/>No Resolve ~ "Dancing With Your Ghost"<br/>SVRCINA ~ "Steady"; "Astronomical"; "Deeper"; "Meet Me On The Battlefield"<br/>David Hough ~ "Hold On"<br/>Sam Tinnesz ~ "Hold On For Your Life"; "Glass Heart"<br/>Tyler Blackburn ~ “Would You Come Home”<br/>David Hodges ~ "Recover"<br/>Chord Overstreet ~ "Hold On"<br/>Fleurie ~ "Breathe"; "Hurricane"<br/>Natalie Taylor ~ "Surrender"<br/>Laura Brehm ~ "Parallel"; "Breathe"<br/>We Are Messengers ~ "I'll Think About You"<br/>Plumb ~ "At Arm's Length"<br/>Kodaline ~ "Brother"<br/>Before You Exit ~ "Clouds"<br/>Rob Thomas ~ "Pieces"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>~*~*~*~*~</p><p> </p><p>I was raised a soldier;<br/>
put my weapons down to hold you<br/>
Is a kiss an act of war?<br/>
I just tried to keep you warm<br/>
Even though I couldn’t stay<br/>
no, you never looked away<br/>
Now I can’t look away</p><p>~ Tyler Blackburn, “Would You Come Home”</p><p> </p><p>~*~*~*~*~</p><p>The moment he touched the doorknob, Steve knew at once that something was wrong.</p><p>Sharon saw the change in his demeanor and her smile faded, the mood between them instantly shifting from light-hearted conversation to fixated concern. “What's going on?”</p><p>“I’m not sure.” He slipped the key in, twisting it far enough to pop the door open in the same motion. A rush of cold air greeted him.</p><p>The first thing he noticed was the crunch of glass under his booted foot. The noise itself wasn’t inordinately loud, but in the eerily silent apartment where even the walls seemed to be holding a breath, he may as well have let the door slam into the wall with a bang.</p><p>The entryway was in shambles. Glass plates, cups, and bowls once on the open shelving between the entryway and the kitchen littered the floor in shattered bits. There was a dent in the wall at shoulder-height, so deep and wide it caved into the drywall. Mail, newspaper, and magazines had been thrown around in the living room, the coffee table upside down, the armchair on its side. His shield, originally left propped against the wall of the hallway, had been thrown into a corner.</p><p>Most of the cupboards in the kitchen were open, containers and cans and packaging spilling on the counters and over the floor. Two of the knives from the case on the wall were missing, and Steve spotted them in the dining area – one on the floor, the other in a wall. Both showed spots of drying blood on the blades and handles.</p><p>It looked like the aftermath of a fight to the death.</p><p>And there, limping aimlessly between the kitchen and the dining room, was Bucky.</p><p>Steve’s mouth fell open, hesitating in the entryway. “Bucky?”</p><p>Bucky flinched, dark eyes zeroing in on the sound of his voice for a few seconds, but kept pacing. He rounded the kitchen table, lips moving in a continual stream of conversation Steve couldn't fully pick up, tapping a gun—the Luger Natasha had given him two years back—against his leg.</p><p>“Whoa, Bucky...” Steve stepped forward, brow creasing with rising concern. “Bucky? You hear me?”</p><p>Bucky stopped, but didn’t answer. He stared at some point on the floor, muttering under his breath to some unseen force.</p><p>Damn it. Steve looked back at Sharon, raising a hand in warning. “Don’t move.”</p><p>She instantly stilled in the entryway.</p><p>“Bucky?” He dared another step. “Buck, it's me.”</p><p>No answer.</p><p>“Do you know where you are?”</p><p>Bucky glanced out the nearest window for a moment, then locked his critical gaze on Steve.</p><p>“Can you...” Steve lifted his hands palm up, confirming he was unarmed. “Can you give me the gun?”</p><p>The muttering immediately stopped.</p><p>“Bucky...” Out of the corner of his eye, Steve watched Bucky’s hand; watched his trembling first finger move from the grip to the trigger. Back and forth. Back and forth. “The safety isn't on.”</p><p>That, for whatever reason, garnered a response. “I’m... waiting.”</p><p>“Waiting for what, pal?”</p><p>“Waiting...” Something blipped through Bucky’s concentration, but not enough to shake it. “Waiting for the all clear.”</p><p>“The all clear.” Steve repeated softly with dawning realization. “Your target?”</p><p>The response was void of personality, dutifully answering the question. “Five men. All armed. Confirmed the two targets and eliminated both. Waiting for the all clear to extraction.”</p><p>“Perimeter sweep completed.” Steve affirmed in a tone deep-rooted in the rank and authority he knew Bucky was expecting. One step. “All clear.”</p><p>Sure enough, Bucky’s finger returned to the Luger’s grip and stayed there.</p><p>“Give me your weapons, Sergeant.” Steve ordered firmly, but quietly.</p><p>Bucky looked down at the gun in his hand, then back to Steve. “No.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“I'm waiting for the all clear.”</p><p>The floor rocked underneath his feet. Something else, he had to try something else. “Bucky, what year is it?”</p><p>No answer.</p><p>Another step. “Where are you?”</p><p>“I...” Bucky's breathing picked up, blinking rapidly.</p><p>“Are you hurt?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p><em>Oh, God.</em> “Can I help you?”</p><p>His eyebrows knit together, struggling to speak. “... Yes.”</p><p>Last step. Steve was so close he could have reached out and touched him. “I’ll help you. I promise. Please, give me the gun.”</p><p>It took an uncomfortably long time for Bucky to make a decision. His breathing was erratic, face dotted with sweat. But, at last, he lifted the gun and set it into Steve's waiting hand.</p><p>“Thank you.” Steve whispered gratefully, immediately switching the safety back on. </p><p>Without looking back, he offered the gun to Sharon. He wanted it well away from any danger. She walked up silently behind him, took the Luger, and retreated back to the entryway.</p><p>Now that the gun was no longer a risk, Steve lifted a hand out to his friend. “What happened?”</p><p>Bucky’s gaze turned hard. “Don't touch me.”</p><p>Steve hesitated. “Do you know me?”</p><p>There wasn’t any indication of recognition in Bucky’s eyes. “Don't you touch me.”</p><p>Steve dropped his hand. “I won’t. It’s up to you.”</p><p>“Don't come near me.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>Bucky looked down and to his left, raising a fist to pound anxiously against his forehead. Struggling, it seemed, to remember or focus on something.</p><p>When he did speak, it was little better than a murmur and only served to raise Steve's growing concern. “Why didn't you let me die?”</p><p><em>What?</em> “What are you talking about?”</p><p>“Why did you take my <em>gun</em>?” Bucky snarled at him. His hand dropped to his side, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Were you afraid I’d kill you? Kill her? Kill myself?”</p><p>He was escalating, and Steve lifted a hand again. “I took it because I'm your friend.”</p><p><em>“And I waited!”</em> Bucky spat back. “I waited for you!”</p><p>Steve saw the clenched fist coming, but did nothing to block. It connected squarely with his jaw with a sickening crack, knocking him back into the counter.</p><p>When his vision righted, he first glanced at Sharon. Bucky didn’t pursue him, so she had not moved from her spot; remaining partially hidden by the shelving between the kitchen and the entryway, but the look on her face was one of calculated panic. Outside the Luger cradled in her experienced grip, habitually pointed to the floor but ready, she was weaponless. Her phone was in her car. She could go for hand-to-hand combat— </p><p><em>It's okay.</em> Steve again gave her the sign to stand down. <em>I'm okay. I just need a minute...</em></p><p>She nodded, reassured enough to let the Luger hang in one hand, and he pushed off the counter.</p><p>“Bucky...” Steve worried over his jaw absently for a moment, daring to step close again. </p><p>Bucky didn’t seem to hear. He was staring at his own right hand in something like abject horror, as though it only just registered what he had done. The sharp lines in his face wrinkled, body trembling so bad he nearly hit his knees.</p><p> “... You shouldn't trust me.” His breath left him in a rush. “—I could have.”</p><p>He turned away from Steve and resumed pacing; circling the table, hand slapping down on all surfaces to keep himself upright. He had to keep moving. Keep moving. Keep...</p><p>And there was Steve, back in his space and in the way.</p><p>“You said I could help you.” Steve whispered, voice far too gentle for someone nursing a punch in the face; much less one who managed to not black out or break teeth from it. “Remember telling me that?”</p><p>Bucky nodded stiffly, swallowing gulps of air, trembling right hand fisting into his jacket.</p><p>“Please let me help you.”</p><p>No answer again, but his weight rolled back to the heels of his boots and his shoulders dropped. It was enough; the fine shift of body language all the permission Steve needed. </p><p>Keeping contact to a minimum, Steve wrapped a hand around the back of his friend’s neck. Bucky’s skin was slick with clammy sweat, too warm to give Steve anything other than more questions in need of answering. Bucky was sick, or he was going to be. But, to his credit, he didn’t pull away.</p><p>“You're hyperventilating.” Steve whispered, so softly Bucky more lip-read than heard.</p><p>He hadn’t even noticed he was breathing so hard it sounded like a low, choppy scream. The space behind his sternum was on fire, the blood pounding in his ears.</p><p>“I... think... I... panic... attack...” Bucky mumbled, more to himself but sounding more <em>like</em> himself; gripping his jacket even tighter. It had been months since his last one, but the hand on his neck squeezed for a second in an affirming way.</p><p>“Shhh... just breathe. One step at a time.”</p><p>For several minutes, they stood in the middle of the kitchen. Bucky wavered on his feet, kept upright by Steve’s steadfast presence; too overwhelmed by the throbbing of his own heart, the jagged catch in his breath, the furious ache in his chest to pull away again. But some hazy instinct told him not to fight it. He just let the attack ride itself out. </p><p>In under ten minutes, his breathing started to steady. His heart slowed. The unusual pain began to dissipate. </p><p>Then strong fingers slipped in between his, steadying a fraction of the trembling.</p><p>And there in that moment, like the flick of a switch, the rest of the haze lifted. Bucky found himself staring into Steve’s familiar blue eyes.</p><p>“... Steve?”</p><p>Steve swallowed hard. “What is it?”</p><p>Bucky let go of him quickly, a sudden wave of nausea making his head spin. “I think I’m going to be sick.”</p><p>His friend didn’t need to be told twice. With one hand on Bucky’s shoulder, Steve directed him right to the bathroom down the hall.</p><p>Moments later he was heaving into the toilet on an empty stomach; spitting out a rancid mix of acidic bile and choking saliva. Without an invitation, the sweaty hair in his face was brushed back and held out of the way. </p><p>“When did you eat last?” Steve asked from his spot on the edge of the tub.</p><p>Bucky shrugged.</p><p>Well, that certainly explained a few things. Half the prescriptions Bucky was on required being taken with a meal, so if he hadn’t eaten in the last several hours or longer, it was a fair bet to say he’d neglected to take his medication as well. Steve had been away four days; it was anyone’s guess how long it had been since the last dose of anything. Suddenly dropping a few of them in particular was, to put simply, quite dangerous.</p><p>At least it was a place to start.</p><p> “Sharon?” Steve called out into the hallway.</p><p>Sharon popped her head in. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Could you bring me the small wicker basket on top of the fridge, a glass, and something out of the breadbox?”</p><p>“I'll see what I can find.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>Steve turned back to Bucky's shuddering form, one hand on his back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “Think you can keep down some food with your meds?”</p><p>Bucky nodded against his arm. “I’ll try. I think that was... what do they call it? Just hunger puke...?”</p><p>“Hunger, stress. Nuance, in your case.”</p><p>Bucky sniffed, spitting out another foul-tasting mouthful in answer.</p><p>Sharon returned, handing Steve all the requested items before leaving again. <em>Just pretend I’m not here,</em> she seemed to whisper with her eyes as she disappeared down the hall, and even though he knew she would stay until she was certain they were all out of any real danger, Steve was infinitely thankful for her patience under pressure.</p><p>Dumping the basket contents on the bathroom counter, Steve double-checked each label, shook out the appropriate dose, and then tossed the pill containers back in. One in particular he didn’t take the normal dose from; rather mental-noting to have Bucky take it in the morning, as he usually did. It helped with focus, but sometimes caused insomnia as a side effect, and Steve wanted to try to talk Bucky into sleeping as soon as possible.</p><p>Bucky tore the bread roll into chunks and chewed them down. When he was ready, Steve gave him the pile of different pills. He knocked them all back at once, mixing the pills into his mouthful of bread, and swallowed everything in one go. It was a little gross, but it was also the fastest way he could take so many at once without gagging on the taste. Liquids didn’t cut the taste and texture enough to work for so many at one same time.</p><p>Once the nausea started to dissipate, however, he struggled to rise—much faster than Steve hoped.</p><p>“Hey, slow down.” He made a soft grab for Bucky’s jacket. “Don’t you think you should take a second to breathe?”</p><p>“I can't.” Bucky muttered harshly, forcing himself back to his feet and worming his way back to the hall. “I can’t hold still... can’t hold still.”</p><p>“What's wrong?”</p><p>“Everything.”</p><p>His knees buckled and he fell sideways, catching himself on the wall. But when Steve tried to lend a hand again, he was shoved away. “I can do it! I have to do it...”</p><p>But he couldn’t for long. He stumbled like a drunkard around the main area of the apartment—into the kitchen, through the dining room, to the living room, back out to the entryway, and to the kitchen again—so disoriented he would accidentally bash into the table, trip over rugs, catch his feet on chairs, slam into walls. Only pure determination and massive agitation at the thought of stopping kept him going. </p><p>“Buck, this is ridiculous.”</p><p>“You don’t have to follow me.”</p><p>Steve followed. He tried to be there for the harder falls, several times preventing Bucky from ending up face down on the floor. Steve would get him back to his feet, but once he regained his balance he pulled away, determined to walk a dizzying path into the floor under his own power.</p><p>They walked miles in circles around the small apartment, around and around; waiting for the meds to kick in, waiting for Bucky's frayed nerves and energy to wear out. He changed direction frequently, yelled at unseen faces, cried out in frustration, struggled to breathe. As the minutes dragged by, his balance got worse and so did his resilience. Steve was never far; a tireless force to his waning vigor. </p><p>“I can help you.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>At first, it took a few extra seconds to shake out of Steve’s hands. He started to let Steve walk beside him, rather than behind. Then, instead of trying to catch his balance against the table, he grabbed Steve’s shoulder instead. </p><p>“Will you let me help you now?”</p><p>“I can't stop.”</p><p>“I won’t ask you to.”</p><p>Steve caught Bucky’s wrist, wrapped the arm across his shoulders mid-step, and resumed the pace without further comment.</p><p>Bucky balked for a moment, but didn’t resist and fell in step with him. </p><p>Around and around. Around and around.</p><p>Until, in the early morning hours, Bucky tripped over his own foot a final time. It wasn’t surprising, but this time stumbling from it left him easing them both into a stop. A hazy, full stop at last. </p><p>Still twitching and shaking, now more from exhaustion than panic, Bucky sank in against Steve's side, turning into him with a shuddering sigh. He was too worn out to pull away, too worn out to fight, and that had likely been the goal all along.</p><p>“Are we... safe?” </p><p>“Yeah. Everything’s clear.”</p><p>“I think...” Bucky mumbled into Steve’s shirt collar, “—it’s over now.”</p><p>“Think so?”</p><p>“I’d... rather not go through it again.”</p><p>And <em>that</em> sounded more like his old friend. </p><p>Bucky was filthy and clammy, but Steve didn’t care. He returned the partial hug with apprehensive warmth, giving Bucky’s ribs a squeeze and burying his nose in long, unkempt hair. “Hey, pal.”</p><p>The grip around his neck tightened in response. </p><p>As they stood there, Steve became increasingly aware of just how stiff and uneasy Bucky was. His knees quivered, his breathing was tight, and when Steve pulled away just enough to thread fingers in his friend’s hair and lean in against his face, Bucky swayed unsteadily in response. </p><p>Getting cleaned up would feel like a difference between day and night, but would he even have the presence of mind to get through it? Steve would have ordinarily forgone asking at all, but in the end, how uncomfortable Bucky looked and behaved won the debate. He didn’t want to just dump his friend into bed. It was unlikely he’d be able to sleep at all in his sweaty clothing, or be at ease enough to sleep in just his skin.</p><p>“Think you could make it through a shower?” Steve murmured.</p><p>Bucky shrugged, swallowing hard.</p><p>“You'd feel a little better,” he continued; soft, but unyielding. “Come on.”</p><p>“... Okay.”</p><p>Steve’s frown deepened into a thin line, very much uncertain about the level of weariness in that response, but not quite knowing what to say. Carefully, he wrapped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and headed in the direction of the hall. Bucky stepped with him, matching his pace, listlessly following his lead all the way back to the bathroom.</p><p>Steve led the way in and, smoothly side-stepping in the rather small space, let Bucky bypass him so he could be closer to the tub. But the moment he let go of his friend’s hand Bucky withdrew, withering back as his right hand found his left shoulder. </p><p>Bucky stood there for several moments, head bowed, and rubbed at the concaved junction of his shoulder where the old metal ended; as though trying to make sense of a feeling that shouldn’t rise from a limb that wasn't there. Gradually, his right hand moved to his forehead, kneading circles into his temple in a tale-tell sign of vertigo and pain.</p><p>“Can you undress?” Steve inquired gently, breaking the silence.</p><p>Bucky sighed. “I think so.”</p><p>He unzipped his jacket first, shrugging out of the cracking leather and its soft interior lining. He untucked the long-sleeved shirt and pulled it over his head, dragging the tank top underneath with it. He toed out of his boots, pulled off socks. His belt unbuckled easily with one hand, jeans dropped to the floor, undergarments followed. Everything he discarded smelled stale and damp.</p><p>Steve gathered the armload of clothing and boots and left, giving Bucky his privacy long enough to at least step behind the curtain and get the water running.</p><p>Down the hallway, Sharon was waiting for him.</p><p>"Just what I’d hoped for.” She stopped him, gesturing for the bundle of clothing in his arms.</p><p>Steve balked in surprise. “No, you don’t have to—”</p><p>“Too late.” She shrugged, easily slipping her arms under his and taking Bucky’s belongings from him. “I have nearly a full load in the washer already.”</p><p><em>She started cleaning?</em> He hadn’t exactly taken her for the type to sit and wait, but he didn’t expect this. Stunned, Steve relinquished control of his armload to her, but before Sharon could escape him, he came to his senses fast enough to catch her shoulder. </p><p>“You didn’t have to do that,” he whispered; mildly embarrassed, more than a little touched.</p><p>She smiled knowingly, shaking her head. “It's something to do. Don’t worry about this. Just take care of him, okay?”</p><p>“I owe you, big time.”</p><p>Pressing her head against her shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, she squeezed his hand. “It’s on the list. I’ll leave you some clean clothes to pass along in a few.”</p><p>It did her heart good to see him crack a weary grin at that. She shooed him back, turning around and taking Bucky’s clothing with her.</p><p>When he returned to the bathroom, the tub faucet was running and, judging by the sound of it, Bucky was testing the temperature with his hand before switching the diverter to the showerhead. He flicked on the fan, and it roared to life over the sound of running water.</p><p>“Bucky?”</p><p>No answer.</p><p>“I’m back. Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be right here.”</p><p>Still no response, but Steve clearly heard Bucky shift his feet as he flipped the diverter switch up; the water quickly redirected and he stepped into the spray.</p><p>Taking a seat on the closed toilet, Steve let his elbows hit his knees and his head hit his hands with a sigh. Just breathe. Several deep lungfuls of air helped settle a few of his frayed nerves, and he tried to think as calmly as possible. <em>It’s going to be fine. We can get through this. Just breathe.</em></p><p>It was perhaps a minute or two before he realized he couldn’t hear anything but the showerhead running; no movement under the spray, no indication that Bucky was doing anything at all.</p><p>“Buck? Is something wrong?”</p><p>Steve heard the slow, wet slide and clunk of a body sitting down in the tub, and tapped the shower curtain. “Bucky?”</p><p>“... I can’t.” Bucky’s voice was so low, Steve almost didn’t hear it. “Hurts so bad...”</p><p>Steve drew the curtain aside to peek in and found Bucky on the tub floor, knees drawn up to his chest, head against the far shower wall. His fingers pressed into his aching eyes and the bridge of his nose, chest quivering with near silent cries. But the warmth from the water was comfortable, and he made no effort to move from being drenched by the showerhead.</p><p>The night wasn’t over, and the weight of the lump in his throat was almost more than Steve could stand. Swallowing hard, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.</p><p>He took the detachable showerhead from its cradle, knelt by the tub, and gently soaked Bucky the rest of the way down with the warm spray. Bucky wouldn’t look at him, but that didn't stop Steve from continuing; carefully warning and explaining every movement, every action, every touch.</p><p>“I’m just rinsing you down,” Steve murmured, directing the spray over Bucky’s back and shoulders with one hand and scrubbing his skin lightly with the other. “Let me get your hair while I’m at it. Could you turn this way for me? There we go...”</p><p>Bucky said nothing, and did everything Steve asked of him. The few times Steve did catch a glimpse of his expression, the sight of it made him bite his lip too hard. Bucky’s brow was pinched, his jaw trembled, and though it was impossible to be sure in the shower, his troubled breathing and occasional sniffling said he was fighting tears and wearing too thin to hide it.</p><p>It made Steve want to work harder, to do more; anything that might help alleviate that level of terrible misery.</p><p>He rinsed out a washcloth, added a dollop of soap, and lathered it up in one hand while taking Bucky’s hand with the other. And he quietly, unobtrusively washed his friend’s weary, hurting body. Between his fingers, up and around his only arm, over his shoulders and chest, down his sides to his legs and feet; paying careful attention around his ticklish areas and scars. </p><p>Physically speaking at least, aside from a few minor cuts and bruises, Bucky was no worse off than usual.</p><p>Steve then asked Bucky to turn around, and scrubbed his back and neck for several minutes. Bucky curled away from him, in a kind of pain he couldn’t articulate beyond a choked breath, but didn’t panic at being touched. And Steve knew. He diagnosed Bucky’s reactions and silence and adjusted to what he felt Bucky was trying to tell him he needed; more than once having to quickly press a wrist into both eyes in order to see again. The quiet touch of Steve’s hands, as they slowly found Bucky’s tender spots without any verbal direction and unhurriedly worked some of the hard, knotted heat out of his muscles, gradually gave Bucky a kind of confidence he would have thought impossible in his vulnerable state. </p><p>At last, Steve handed him the sudsy washcloth. “Finish up anywhere I might’ve missed, okay? I’ll work on your hair next.”</p><p>While Bucky made an effort to wash his face and the sensitive areas Steve had purposely skipped around, Steve stood just long enough to grab Bucky's shampoo and conditioner from the shelf. One squeeze of the bottle, and the shampoo bubbled nicely in his hands. Steve worked it for a few seconds, had Bucky lean forward over the edge of the tub, and dove soapy fingers into his hair.</p><p>More of the tension, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on Bucky’s shoulders, dissipated with an unexpected sigh the moment Steve started rolling small, firm circles into the base of his skull. He melted, forehead meeting his arm on the edge of the tub.</p><p>“Still with me?” Steve asked gently, without so much as a hitch in his fingers.</p><p>Bucky chewed over a response for several moments, exhaling hard. “... I did need this.”</p><p>Steve hummed in answer and continued; behind the ears, the sides of his head, to the top and back again. And if he kept this up longer than necessary, Bucky never said a word.</p><p>Nothing he did was in a hurry. Steve had never personally grown out long hair in his life, but that didn't stop him from knowing how to take care of it. He coated Bucky's thick hair from root to tip with the shampoo and slowly detangled by hand, individual strand by strand. The grease and dead hair loosened under the soft abuse, rinsing out smoothly with little encouragement. Steve repeated the process with the conditioner, and didn't stop until he was satisfied not one loose hair was left. </p><p>Bucky took several seconds to find his bearings and sit back up, but when he did, Steve soaked his whole body down again from head to toe, racing the soap down the drain. </p><p>As he was finishing up, Bucky sighed raggedly into his knees. “... I’m sorry.”</p><p>Steve hesitated; all the indication Bucky needed to know he’d been heard. “For what?”</p><p>His breath caught. “I... but you’ve been... I'm sor—”</p><p>There were several things Steve was willing to deal with, several directions he could watch Bucky take, but this was not one of them. He stopped that apology dead in its tracks, pressing his forehead into Bucky’s temple with a gentle no. His free hand, wet from the bath and soft from the soap, met Bucky’s cheek and held him in place.</p><p>“Talk to me only when you’re ready. I’ll listen to anything...” Steve squeezed him tighter, “—<em>but</em> an apology you should never feel the need to give me.”</p><p>Bucky deflated, and when Steve released him, ducked his head back to his knees and wrapped his arm around his face. Steve didn't comment. If Bucky didn't have the words yet, Steve wasn’t going to make him find them before their time. </p><p>Instead of conversation, he focused on the task at hand and continued letting Bucky know what he was going to do just before he did it. It was only when he couldn’t find any remaining sudsy evidence that Steve confirmed he was done and reattached the showerhead to its cradle.</p><p>Though he’d been warned, Bucky still jumped when the showerhead suddenly cut off and the faucet resumed full blast. Steve slammed the stiff diverter back down with his fist, plugged the drain, and checked the temperature again. This time, he turned the water as hot as it would allow; heat that tinged Bucky's pale hands and feet with a roughened pink in seconds. </p><p>Underneath the sink, he found an air-tight container full of small oil bottles, a large bag of Epsom salts, and a box of baking soda. As the tub filled, he added to it. A cup of Epsom salts. A cup of baking soda. 5 drops of lemon. 10 drops of lavender. 10 drops of frankincense. Lemongrass, 5. Cedarwood, 10. Roman chamomile, rose, clary sage, basil, wild orange; all with their own specific scents Bucky had come to appreciate in the last several months, and each drop Steve carefully counted as he added. Everything dissolved quickly in the hot water, mixed in smoothly with the churning flow of the faucet and the added effort of their hands.</p><p>“If you’re in this for more than twenty minutes, it’ll knock you out for two days.” Steve muttered, the cleansing, powerful smells filling his nose.</p><p>Bucky sniffed into his arm. “That wouldn't be so bad.”</p><p>Steve didn't miss the hint of guilt coloring that comment.</p><p>When the tub filled high enough, Bucky lay down on his back, settling in as comfortably as he could. He let the water crawl up his sides and the heat seep into him with a strange kind of acceptance; as though it could lull him into a dreamless, painless sleep. </p><p>Steve didn’t shut off the water until the level of it was less than two inches from the edge.</p><p>“Need anything?”</p><p>Bucky’s tired, clouded eyes lifted to meet Steve’s gaze at last. His mouth opened, then closed again. <em>Talk to me when you’re ready.</em> He shook his head and lay against the backrest of the tub, but a sense of understanding passed between them. They both knew he would get to that point. He just needed time.</p><p>Steve sat by the tub and watched the clock, but Bucky somehow knew without any indication when he needed to rotate around; giving the well treated bath time to soak into every inch, every crevice of him. After roughly five minutes, he maneuvered with some effort to his side. Five minutes after that he turned to his stomach, letting his forehead drop to the lip of the tub and tucking his hand under his head. Then to his other side; exposing his back to the door with a crumpled sigh, trusting Steve to be his eyes.</p><p>The silence, otherwise, was almost deafening between them. Steve could hear every shaky breath, and, even when Bucky turned away from him, was certain he was burying tears in the water.</p><p>Steve leaned into the outside of the tub, and waited for the world to resume turning.</p><p>~*~</p><p>When the twenty minutes were up, Steve stood up to grab two large towels.</p><p>As he did so, Bucky wobbly heaved back to his feet; carefully grabbing the shelf for support. One towel was tossed on his head, the other Steve quickly helped wrap around his waist. As Bucky started to towel himself dry, Steve ducked back out into the hallway and found—as promised—a set of clean clothing waiting for them. </p><p>While Bucky finished drying off, pulled on the silky, loose pants, and haphazardly threw the towels back on the rack, Steve unplugged the tub and gave the water a minute to drain out. He rinsed the sides of the shower and the walls of the tub before shutting off the water for good and again replacing the showerhead to its cradle.</p><p>As he turned back around Steve caught the worn, disinterested look on Bucky’s face from his seat on the toilet. His hand quietly shivered as it worked on brushing out the ends of his hair.</p><p>Steve reached out a hand in offering. “May I?”</p><p>Bucky looked at him, to the side, at the brush, then back to Steve. With a sigh, he gave the brush over easily. “If you want.”</p><p>“Sure, I do.” Steve sat on the edge of the tub, a comfortable distance away, and took over the task with ease.</p><p>“... Someone’ll think you’re the one with sisters,” Bucky whispered, inclining his head and holding still.</p><p>Steve chuckled quietly at that. “May as well have. Becca was the one to teach me how to French braid.”</p><p>Though it was an effortless opening to continue the conversation he’d started, Bucky didn’t take it. The fresh, comfortable feeling from the bath was disappearing and the real, waking world reconnected him to the moment with a force that nearly undid all Steve’s hard work. Rather suddenly, the pang of mentioning the family he missed as bad as he did morphed into a twisted kind of relief. He was glad they couldn’t see him now. He doubted anyone would even recognize him at this point. His face was gaunt, eyes bloodshot, shoulders rounded forward in pain, weighed down and numb from a long struggle of holding relentless culpability and shame at bay. He didn’t want them to know him like this.</p><p>The miserable, hard lump in his throat returned to full force.</p><p>The brushing hesitated. “You okay?”</p><p>An unsaid no hovered in the silence between them, replaced with a nearly imperceptible whimper he hadn’t meant to let slip out loud. But as Bucky lifted his head in an attempt to explain, he stopped short at noticing a newly formed bruise splashing red and purple across Steve’s cheek. Steve froze, brush still in the middle of a handful of drying hair, when wavering fingers touched his jaw. </p><p>“It’s not a big deal.” Steve exhaled dismissively and shrugged, opting instead to resume his brushing.</p><p>But Bucky winced at the movement, clicking his tongue; the sound of it full of sickening guilt.</p><p>“This isn’t right,” he mumbled, rambling more at himself than anything as his hand dropped to his lap. “Too dangerous. I’m not worth this much trouble. The <em>gun,</em> Steve. I could have killed someone with the damn gun...”</p><p>“Come on—”</p><p>“I should be on ice. Or dead.” He sucked in a breath. <em>Too far.</em> He knew it the moment the words left his mouth.</p><p>A long, pointed silence passed between them. The brush in his hair fell away, set down on the counter. Then Steve knelt, taking Bucky’s hand in both his own and gripping it hard. </p><p>“No.”</p><p>Bucky couldn’t even look at him. His eyes squeezed shut.</p><p>“No, of course not. Buck, you’re not dangerous. You were scared.”</p><p>A cold, distant laugh forced a way out of him. Bucky shook out of Steve’s grasp and dropped his head into his hand. “If this is what happens when I’m scared, then it proves I should be on ice. I’m always... <em>always</em> afraid.”</p><p>Steve let his hands drop to his knees, rocking back on his feet with a soft groan. He stared down at the floor, following the lines in the linoleum, wracking his brain for what he could possibly say to that.</p><p>When he did speak, he did so to the top of Bucky’s head. “I know this is hard. It’s so hard on you. But going under won’t change what happened, you know that. It’ll still be there when you wake up. You’re going to have bad days, and that’s okay. Let your bad days be.”</p><p>That hit a nerve. Bucky looked up and scowled at him, incredulous. “You seriously want to talk about this now?”</p><p>Not the best move, it seemed. Steve wilted internally at that callous look, but to his credit, stood his ground. “You’re not giving me a stunning number of other options. You want to break things or scream at the world, then do it. I won’t stop you. Do what you have to do. But I’m going to be here... I’ll wait this out with you.”</p><p>“I don’t <em>deserve</em> your help,” Bucky ground out behind clenched teeth, trying and failing to sound harsh. “It’s not a matter of waiting it out. I can’t just set everything down.”</p><p>“I know that. But we could potentially get to somewhere other than <em>here</em> if you’d talk about it.”</p><p>“You also told me to wait until I was <em>ready</em> to talk about it.”</p><p>“You brought it back up on your own.”</p><p>The attempt to backpedal recoiled on him. <em>Shit.</em> “You really want to know?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p><em>“Why?”</em> Bucky hissed, though saying so only made it clear he understood that Steve was as serious as ever. “Don’t I interrupt your life plenty?”</p><p>“Is that why you shut me out?”</p><p>"You put up with me enough as it is!"</p><p>"I'd put up with a lot more over talking to your grave!" Steve shot back, eyes bright with terrible, painful awareness.</p><p>Bucky froze and flinched back, any retort he had dying on his tongue as two simultaneous realizations rose from his subconscious and smacked him in the face. For one, <em>Steve knew what life without him looked like.</em> And two... good God, <em>Steve already guessed how close to that life he was again.</em></p><p>He never wanted to be reminded. Reminders meant facing how little of a reason he had to stay. Reminders meant realizing all the ways he’d let them both down. Reminders meant admitting that if death ever made a real invitation, he’d likely take it without a second thought. The last treasure mortality had to offer. That end invaded his dreams, his waking thoughts, and had evidently bled into his everyday actions. He never said anything out loud, and he never felt the need to. No one cared about the last step of an unseen path until it was too late.</p><p>Somewhere in the middle of the riptide of chaotic nothing, there had been a voice gently asking him to survive. It was small and calm, though the majority of the time it blended into the static around it. Survive for what, for how long, by what path, Bucky hadn’t garnered from the tiny instinct amidst all else. But right now, that voice was screaming.</p><p>He should have realized sooner that, though he’d been lost in the effort to take up as little space as possible, Steve was never going to let him go that easily.</p><p>"I'll take it." Steve continued fiercely; voice wet. "I'll take all your bad days. I'll take a day like today, every day, <em>for the rest of my life,</em> if it means I never, ever have to look at a cold headstone and pretend like that compares to you at your worst when it doesn't. It won't. It never will."</p><p>Bucky couldn’t feel his feet. His mouth went slack and his tongue abandoned his voice, kicking every language he’d ever learned straight out of his head. Every word Steve said pummeled into him and the raw, splintering lump in his throat reacted; swelling so hard it made breathing impossible.</p><p>Steve gathered Bucky’s face into his hands, gently but firmly forcing their eyes to meet. "Don't you dare stay silent because you think it will save me from getting hurt. Don't you dare think I'd ever prefer speaking to the empty space you'd leave me with <em>again</em> over you. <em>Don't you dare."</em></p><p>Bucky could hardly take in Steve’s expression but Steve could only look steadily into his own, and in doing so, whatever had been holding the last of him together unraveled at the seams. He hadn’t even realized how close to the edge he’d gotten until he was pitching head-first over it. Bucky watched, powerless, as the last defensible wall of anger collapsed in front of his eyes, and, with it, the last of his pride. His composure broke, his head hit his hand with a cry, and, chest heaving, exploded into painful, ugly tears.</p><p>Steve caught him before he could hit the ground.</p><p>Bucky was sobbing so hard he couldn't even see. All he could do to wrap his arm around Steve's neck to tether himself close, shivering from the exhaustion and the pain, trying to fathom how his life could possibly contain more than the haunting isolation and the hollow numbness that had consumed and swallowed him whole. It was everything he knew. It permeated everything he touched. What was left of him? Who was he? What kind of life could he ever claim? What kind of future did he deserve?</p><p>Nothing. Nothing. </p><p>Nothing. </p><p>
  <em>Nothing.</em>
</p><p>He knew. He didn't deserve anything. </p><p>He didn't deserve this second life. He didn't deserve a friend who wanted to catch him when he fell. He didn't deserve this kind of blind acceptance; the warm regard with which Steve treated him; perhaps even in the hope that one day he could be anything like what he used to be. He had tried that, but there was no going back. Irredeemable, cursed, pretending he could outlive the monster he had been turned into when, at even an indication of genuine love, he fell to pieces like a feral beast. The shame would not allow him to grab hold of that lifeline.</p><p>Too weak to run. Too weak to hide. He could only lay there, wounded and defenseless, spinning the wheel on his own memory and wondering how much of his humanity had survived a lifetime of torture and death. And he knew, believed with every fibre of his being… there was no fixing this.</p><p>It was some time before Bucky realized that he was lying on the cold linoleum floor of the bathroom, some time before he realized Steve lay there with him, talking to him.</p><p>"I don't know what to do," was the first brokenhearted whisper to cut through the noise in his overwrought brain, and it made Bucky want to die. "I don't know. Please, tell me what to do. Tell me what you need." </p><p>Steve was crying almost as hard as he was, face buried in his neck, arms around his shoulders and ribs, crushing him so hard and tight Bucky was certain there wasn't a person alive who could have pried them apart. "I'll do anything for you. Anything. Just tell me. Tell me anything."</p><p>Bucky convulsed in Steve’s arms; the words meant to reassure him instead burned like fire. Some part of him wanted to answer, but a response was still out of reach. He was stripped and bare in a way that had nothing to do with clothing; exposed to the bone like a gushing, jagged wound.</p><p>How could he ever explain how badly his mind wanted him to die? To lay down and be free of what had been shoved into his head? The still, small survivor’s voice in him faded out, nearly imperceptible after so many years, beaten back as his strength was drained and eaten by the rage and the shame. And he was scared, so scared; scared of standing up, of living, of facing anything at all when more often than not the only barrier standing between him and a bullet to the head was Steve. How was that fair to either of them?</p><p>It was all he could do to turn his head in and press searching lips against Steve's neck in some attempt to soothe him, but that little gesture of affection left Bucky with a taste like blood in his mouth, feeling even emptier than before. </p><p>
  <em>I can't, it hurts so bad.</em>
</p><p>Somewhere within, restrained and plagued with indifference, was the vaguest echo of a need he couldn't name. Perilous escape from the life of torment and control had meant more questions than answers in the aftermath, and independence was not enough to make him believe he was real, that his body was indeed his, or that this was even his life to mold as he wished. The disconnect from it all was excruciating, going through the motions of hiding and denying the want to say goodbye to the last real certainty in his life.</p><p>
  <em>I can't fight it.</em>
</p><p>He wasn't crying for himself anymore. He was crying for the way he feared he would one day leave Steve behind; with or without any understanding. But he didn't want to hurt anyone ever again, either. No matter what he did, he would never be free of this relentless, treacherous cross in the road, and it was a burden Steve didn’t deserve on his conscience. Bucky only knew it meant that one day he was going to break his best friend's heart worse than when he broke his own. He could only bleed internally for so long.</p><p>
  <em>I'm losing.</em>
</p><p>"Stop trying to protect me." Steve adjusted and pulled back just far enough to kiss the space between Bucky's nose and cheek. Hard. "Talk to me. Whatever it is, Buck, just say it."</p><p>Say it. </p><p>And words returned.</p><p>"I'm drowning, Stevie." Bucky whispered. His tongue was too thick, voice too slow, but thoughts scraped themselves from the walls of his aching throat and found a voice that could reach the outside. "... I feel like I'm dead already. I don't know the good man you see in me. I don't want to leave you, because I don't want to hurt you... but I can't give you what you're looking for."</p><p>Steve covered his own mouth with one hand, taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out. And in the seconds it took for a reaction to happen—between the anxiety of a confession awaiting the counter and the increasing realization of what he’d said—overtook his brain and left him isolated in shellshocked, horrified silence.</p><p>And then the last possible thing Bucky ever expected to happen, happened. A hand drifted over his cheek, warm breath brushed his skin, and a nose nuzzled him consolingly before closing the rest of the distance. Bucky tasted salt water, catching himself on half a sob in the quiet breath Steve gave him. And after the eternity of a few moments, he wheezed against Steve’s lips; returned the tenderness with what little he could find in himself, let his eyes close and held him for a breath before they both let go.</p><p>“Thank you...” Steve’s thumb traced the line of his cheekbone, his jaw trembling and voice lower than normal. “Thank you for saying it out loud.”</p><p>And to think Bucky was taken wholly aback by this was a woefully grave understatement.</p><p>"You’ve already given me everything I need. You know that?” Steve took his hand back just long enough to wipe around both eyes as he spoke, then returned to rhythmic drawing of invisible lines around the contours of Bucky’s face. “Everything." </p><p>The crushing weight in Bucky’s chest was staggering, he could hardly think straight. "... How?"</p><p>"You're what I was looking for." Strong fingers brushed his hair back, bloodshot eyes held his own. "Just you, here with me. And when you're angry, lost, hopeless, grieving the life you’ve had... all I want then? Is still you."</p><p>Bucky quietly searched Steve's gaze around labored breathing and burning eyes, and let that resilient honesty engrave itself into his skin.</p><p>This second life they had been given, hard as it was, was an incredible gift; and no matter what Bucky said or how little he could give, there was no making Steve regret the renewed time they had together. It wasn't long before he had to look away, wilting and choking under the strain of seeing such pain-filled warmth, such unwavering love in Steve's eyes. Even in the depths of his emptiest low, the unfettered tenderness in Steve's soul was still within reach. A bare moment of recognition and acknowledgement was all it took to keep him close. And Bucky knew it, responded to it, intimately connected and returned that steady reprieve from his own soul with equal fervor. It both soothed and damned him. </p><p>How could home ever exist inside hell?</p><p>"And if I lose?" Bucky whispered emptily, wobbling in what little empty space lay between them, no longer able to look over and gauge a reaction.</p><p>Steve didn't answer that one. Didn't comment, didn't disagree, didn't plead. He didn't even utter another promise. Instead, Steve gathered Bucky more fully into his arms and against his chest, using a leg to lift him slightly off the floor and away from the cold. They lay in a tangle of limbs; a quivering, convoluted mess.</p><p>And he didn't need to say a word. Bucky knew. Steve would be here, to the end of the line. Come what may, this was exactly where he wanted to be.</p><p>Somehow it was worse than being yelled at, punished, even disregarded. Some part of Bucky wanted Steve to just hate him as much as he hated himself. It would have made the struggle easy enough to put his warring heart to rest. But he knew better. Of all the things Steve was capable of, hating him for the blood in his past was not one of them. Hating Bucky for not knowing how to live with that blood, particularly in the times it got to him, wasn't in Steve either. </p><p>And in the face of such enduring devotion, such complete loyalty, the hate simply drained out of him. </p><p>Bucky pulled his arm into the warmth and let his head rest in against the curve of Steve's neck and shoulder, lost in the smell of him. Eyes itching and swollen, he idly wondered what it would be like if Steve’s smell haunted him the way everything else did.</p><p>Would it even be haunting at all?</p><p>Steve held him for a long, long time.</p><p>~*~</p><p>“Could I ask you something?” Steve murmured into the quiet.</p><p>Bucky rumbled softly against his shoulder. “Okay.”</p><p>“When did you start feeling this way?”</p><p>He sighed. “... Sometime after the Potomac. While I was alone.”</p><p>“I’d like to tell myself that even if I’d known nothing that day, I would have wanted to help you.”</p><p>Bucky didn’t have the energy to retort in as disbelieving a fashion as he felt. “If you hadn’t recognized me, you would have taken me down with the rest of them. You would have killed me the second you had the chance.”</p><p>“You were never like the rest of them, though.” Steve mused aloud, his grip around Bucky’s back as strong as ever. “Even on clashing sides, before the mask fell off? I thought of you as an equal. And you’re the only agent in Hydra’s circle I’ve ever seen muzzled... Why did they do that to you? Only you?”</p><p>Bucky shifted slightly, burying his face against the collar of Steve’s shirt. “Does that matter?”</p><p>“Here’s what I think. You fought them long and hard, in any way you could. But even when you started killing for them, you never completely lost your will to resist them.”</p><p>Steve felt Bucky rock his head from side to side, a clear and dejected disagreement. “It never mattered what I did or didn’t do. I pushed back, but they still won every fight. They always dragged me back.”</p><p>“I’ve read your case file. I know exactly what they thought of you.” Steve’s arms tightened reassuringly when Bucky stiffened at that revelation. “They did everything they could to control you. But for all the domination they got with your help, it would have been less risk to just kill you. Even as a liability you were too valuable, too talented to be killed. So they kept you disconnected with the drugs and the torture whenever you weren’t pursuing mission objectives, and even if you gained a vague sense of what was going on, they put you under and do it all over again.”</p><p>“That doesn’t make me any less culpable.” Bucky muttered testily, irritated and unyielding.</p><p>“I hear you, but what I’m saying is this: you never got a chance to recover. That tells me the only part I care about. The power they had over you was a hard, slippery illusion. They had the greatest soldier in history, but if they didn’t contain you with specific methods and within specific time frames, they’d have lost you in a heartbeat.”</p><p>Bucky clenched and unclenched his hand.</p><p>“Am I wrong?” Steve finally whispered.</p><p>“Hydra still won.” Bucky spat the name out like the foul word it was, leaning back just enough to lock eyes with Steve, quietly daring him to disagree. He would not further dishonor the lives he took by even considering the idea that he held no responsibility. “I killed for them to keep them from killing me. Should have ended it when I had the chance… death would have been better than trying to live on the mountain of corpses I’ve made.”</p><p>The self-loathing was blinding, etching itself into the walls of Steve’s psyche.</p><p>“The only thing you hate more than yourself,” he said softly, “—is them. And even if you don’t see a difference between you and Hydra in the wreckage, of the two, <em>you</em>… you’re worth saving.”</p><p>“You believe that?”</p><p>“I do. And no matter how much you try to hold yourself back, you and I are still connected.” Steve swallowed hard. “You were my friend. You are still. And there isn’t a single thing I could find out about your life that could convince me not to help you.”</p><p>“Staying with me, just to help me…” Bucky groaned, rolling his jaw uncomfortably. “That’s not a life I want to condemn you to.”</p><p>“That’s like asking me to leave because you’re missing an arm.” Steve’s frown deepened, offended at the thought. “So what? Why should I give up on you just because there’s some things you have to do differently than before?”</p><p>Rolling his eyes hurt, but that didn’t stop Bucky from doing it. “This isn’t about my missing <em>arm,</em> it’s about <em>me.”</em></p><p>“No, it’s not different from your arm.” Steve glared right back. “Not at all. Both need time to fully relearn, especially after what you’ve been through. When you lost the left, your right got all the attention because it was the more immediate problem to focus on. You put yourself on the back burner to do it. But your arm is part of you. And if your arm was worth the time to figure out, so is everything else.”</p><p>Bucky deflated, wincing as he turned his forehead down against Steve’s arm, already pillowing his head.</p><p>“I don’t want to watch you suffer if I can’t give you what you need.” He bit his lip, eyes closing. “You deserve real friends... friends who give as good as you do.” </p><p>“Hey, hey...” Steve shifted over, dragging Bucky close so they could be eye to eye again. “You keep telling yourself you have no ability to be my friend. When really… when have you been anywhere but by my side since you came home?”</p><p>Bucky couldn’t answer that.</p><p>“You may not remember all the reasons, but you remember this. You—”</p><p>“But I do! I do.” The words hitched on tiny jolts of shivery breathing, fumbling out in a rush. “<em>I</em> want more. I want to give <em>you</em> more. I’ve tried, but… I haven’t found a way to the person I want to be when I’m with you.”</p><p>“That’s okay.” Steve whispered, brushing aside the longer strands of hair that had fallen into Bucky’s eyes.</p><p>Bucky wearily shook his head. “No, it’s not.”</p><p>Steve sighed. This could go on forever if he let it.</p><p>"You don't owe me anything. And you don't need to give me anything.” His lips brushed over Bucky’s forehead and lingered on his skin in the pauses between words. "I give because I can and because I want to, not because it’s some expectation on me or that I expect anything of you in return. You deserve a fighting chance, and I'll do everything I can to make sure you have it."</p><p>"I don't deserve anything."</p><p>"Yes, you do." Steve kissed him again, light and damp; side stepping the self-deprecating comment with pointed silence and letting the tone in his voice leave no room for further contest. "You deserve whatever it is in life you want to take hold of. And I'll help you... I'll help you find it. For as long as you’ll allow, as long as it takes... even if, in the end, you decide your life doesn't need me in it."</p><p>"Life without you...?" Surrounded by the only solid warmth he could ever call home, never more at peace with death, and never more certain as to why he was breathing at all, Bucky couldn't help but admit a simple truth. "Even if I had managed to escape Hydra for good on my own... without knowing you, I already wouldn't be here. I know that."</p><p>"I'm with you, Buck." A warm breath brushed his ear. "You already have me, so if you need me, I’m here. It’s okay to let yourself need something. Reciprocate when you're ready, even if that's never. All I'm asking for is time... time to help you realize everything you really are. Because if you're going to let every awful thing you've been part of matter this much, then you better let every good thing you've done matter too."</p><p>“What good could I have possibly done to outweigh all that?”</p><p>“You mean, aside from being the smartest person I’ve ever met?”</p><p>Though the comment was lacking any of its usual shy humor, Bucky huffed quietly in spite of himself. “I am not—”</p><p>“Don’t start with me.” Steve knocked their heads together in a direct rebuff. “You were accepted into the academy right after graduation. You helped give the army a reason to hope the US would gain a better reputation when it came to long-range sniping. I have an eidetic memory and you know at least four times as much trigonometry. Your family was so proud of you. I was, too.”</p><p>Bucky deflated under Steve’s hands and the weight of those words; all of them simple but frank. “You remember all that?”</p><p>“All that and more. I’m still proud.”</p><p>“Right now?” Bucky wanted to look away but he was transfixed and bewildered, with no small amount of pain radiating out from his chest.</p><p>Steve hummed; faintly, but in clear agreement.</p><p>“But, as for the good in you...” He went on, brushing Bucky’s hair out of his face and carefully taking in his eyes. “I’m going to be a little biased when it comes to that. Can’t not be. You’re my family. You’re my home. You taught me how to box and how to find my direction. I didn’t want the life the world told me I deserved; I wanted the life you made me believe in. Selfishly, even a little naïvely… I wanted that life with you in it. But right now, if that can never be, I can’t find it in me to leave you bleeding on the ground. Not when you’re still breathing.”</p><p>The sorrowful ache in his chest was spreading back up into his throat, and try as he might, Bucky could not swallow quietly.</p><p>“Should have taught you how to let me go,” he muttered, voice ragged and broken.</p><p>Steve’s arms around him shifted, pulling him close again. “I’d’ve ignored that one.”</p><p>“Yeah...” Contrary to what his tone implied, Bucky welcomed returning to the radiating pocket of warmth against Steve’s chest. His cheek pressed into the side of his friend’s neck and ground a fist into his eyes, but to no avail. The tears wouldn’t dry up. “Yeah, you would have.”</p><p>Bucky found his train of thought wandering back to what memories he had of that time before. Images cropped up of a lanky, asthmatic teenager at the local gym the day after a low blood pressure scare; mimicking the motions he himself made in wrapping hands, teaching the kid how to warm up properly, how to move his body into the appropriate stances, and then protesting loudly when he suddenly decided to make a solid punch on a 150-pound Goldsmith... only for the bag to barely move under the force. Steve had walked home that day with insulted pride and a sprained wrist.</p><p>Some kind of smile crawled onto Bucky’s face for a breath at the memory, any joy in it overshadowed by the moisture on his face and the grip he’d found on the front of Steve’s shirt. “You're my little guy. My whole heart. You know that, right?”</p><p>Steve’s breath snagged, instantly curling around him; as though the stretch of silence hadn’t happened at all.</p><p>“You’re reckless. Fearless. And so kind. Always have been. It was easy to have your back because I knew even if I couldn’t always trust my instincts when it counted, I could trust yours. Barely existed in the day-to-day until you walked into my life and gave me a future.” The little smile faded. “The good you hold on to in me got lost a long time ago. There’s nothing left... I get wisps of it, I’ve been trying to find it, but... I’m not even taking care of myself. I’m not there for you when you need me. I can't even <em>give</em> you—”</p><p>Steve shushed him gently. “I'm fine. And it's okay.”</p><p>“No, it's not okay. This- this isn't okay.”</p><p>“Maybe not.” Steve sighed passively. “But it doesn't change my mind.”</p><p>Curiosity ate its way into Bucky's mouth. “Why not?”</p><p>“Because you saved me first.” Once he’d started, Steve couldn't seem to stop kissing him; all over his face, as though he were trying to infuse every one of Bucky's senses with nothing but love. “You saw a worthless, sick, skinny little boy with nothing to offer but a lifetime of bruises and stupid goals, a child who represented everything the world didn’t want, and you loved him. You loved him hard enough that he learned to love you back. You gave me my impossible. <em>You</em> did that. You. And I can never repay you for it.”</p><p>“That was a lifetime ago,” Bucky whispered weakly. He was dangerously close to losing whatever last dredges of opposition he had left.</p><p>“A lifetime, sure. But truthfully, it’s only been a few years for me.”</p><p>If he suspected any additional change in Bucky’s demeanor, Steve didn’t let on. Just continued his self-appointed mission to seep all the devotion and care he could through Bucky’s skin and into his bones; lips an endearing caress across his forehead. “I could even say it was last month.”</p><p>Between his eyes, down the slope of his nose, leaving little fractures and chinks in his very soul. “Or last week.”</p><p>Again. “Yesterday.”</p><p>And again. “Five minutes ago.”</p><p>Once more, just for good measure. “Right now.”</p><p>In his living memory, Bucky could not recall a single time in his life when someone worked a quarter as hard as Steve was right now to reach him, to see him as he was and love him anyway. It simultaneously made him feel like a little child, alone in a crowd, and as a soldier, lost in the snow, pitching him over the edge and into oblivion. He’d forgotten how to breathe, managing only tiny breaths here and there.</p><p>Steve went on. “You think it matters to me how long ago you saved me? You think it matters that we were both different people then? You think I could ever… change my mind and leave you behind – in my life, or in my heart – because of what they did to you?”</p><p>Speaking at all was agony. “It... It matters to me.”</p><p>The despondency in Bucky’s voice cut razor blades into Steve’s throat. You’re not too far gone hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t say it. It wasn’t what Bucky needed to hear; it was something he already believed and something Steve direly wanted for him to question. He had to keep breaking it down until he found the inmost core. </p><p>“Name one target you chose, then. Tell me about a single instance of you picking and dispatching even a single human being without Hydra’s influence. Just one.”</p><p>“... I can’t.”</p><p>“Name a target you failed to kill.”</p><p>Bucky searched his eyes, inwardly crumbling. “You.”</p><p>“Why’d you fail?”</p><p>“Not for lack of trying.”</p><p>Steve choked on a dry, almost imperceptible laugh. “I’ll give you that. But truly... why’d you fail?”</p><p>“You weren’t fighting to win...” Bucky licked dry lips, the cracks ripping open a little wider. “You were fighting for me.”</p><p>Steve didn’t even blink. “Why would I fight for you?”</p><p>Critical breach. Gushing blood. Evisceration. “... Because you love me.”</p><p>“A love you started.” Steve’s red, tired eyes slipped closed. The tension in his shoulders melted away. “Why’d you have to love me first?”</p><p>Steve didn’t persist. He adjusted his arms, tucking Bucky’s face in against his own, and held him close. So close. Air found its way back into Bucky’s lungs, letting him breathe deeply for the first time in several minutes.</p><p>He lay still, thinking back, recalling snatches of the evening. The men on the street with the startling behavior. Being certain he was followed. Found. Cover blown. Barricading inside the apartment, turning the place upside down until the Luger had been found. Hissing threats to the empty air. Planning and replanning and replanning his escape routes and attack strategies. Pocketing additional ammunition. Invasion. Shattered glass. Blood on his hands. Dispatch. Letting the cowards run. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for the all clear. Until...</p><p>The instant he was staring up into Steve’s vivid blue eyes. Awake. Safe. Home.</p><p>Bucky’s arm twitched and started to pull away from the confines their bodies made between them. The backs of quiet fingers brushed Steve’s cheek, encouraging his eyes to open again. His hand trembled, barely thinking about what to say even as the words left his mouth.</p><p>“You were familiar. I knew you, before I’d even remembered your name.” He flinched slightly, throat burning and raw. “How could I not love you?”</p><p><em>“How could I not...”</em> Steve echoed, infinitely tender. “What a perfect way to put it.”</p><p>Bucky exhaled deeply into the space between them, letting his head thunk quietly back into Steve’s.</p><p>“… Would you let me?” Came the nearly imperceptible question, tucked inside a breath of shared air.</p><p>Bucky glanced up, having only partially removed the drying tears from his cheek with his shoulder. “Let you what?”</p><p>“Try to return the favor?”</p><p><em>Oh.</em> Steve knew exactly what Bucky had made a valiant attempt to contain behind his own soul, and he still wanted to try. He didn’t say he’d be successful. He didn’t say for how long. He didn’t even say how. He just wanted to try. Not out of pity. Steve wanted to be there for him... for as long as he’d allow it.</p><p>“You still want me?” Barely above a whisper.</p><p>No hesitation, no lie in Steve’s eyes. “Yes.”</p><p>Bucky had never seen a more vulnerable expression on Steve’s face. It made him want to snap in two. He swallowed gingerly, rolling his jaw and taking another shuddery breath.  “... I'll try.”</p><p>“You'll try?”</p><p>Bucky nodded slowly, pinching the inner corners of his eyes with the hand that had been resting on Steve’s cheek. “... I'm with you, too.”</p><p>There was no one else, living or dead, to whom Bucky would have made this promise and mean it with every last shred of his heart. But there was a deep, inexplicable faith he had in Steve, one of the few things he'd managed to hold on to despite their time apart; that faith now resonated through him like wildfire, settling on the weight of the fear and drawing that strength into itself instead. </p><p>“God help me, Stevie, I’m with you to the end.” He curled into his friend’s warmth, holding onto him with a desperation that spoke volumes more than his voice. “I’m so sorry. So sorry. I need you. Please help me. Please.”</p><p>“Please don’t apologize anymore,” Steve whispered desperately, rising up on an elbow and pulling Bucky along with him, off the cold floor until they were both sitting up. It made holding him more completely a little easier, allowing Bucky to sink back into his arms and envelop him close, tight, and secure. “You’re worth it. Hear me? You don’t know how worth it you are.”</p><p>“You-” Bucky struggled to swallow around the rasping in his voice and hooked his chin over Steve’s shoulder with a grimace. His only hand secured a vicelike grip around a section of Steve’s shirt.  “You’re worth this, too.” </p><p>
  <em>Worth the pain, worth trying to understand how to carry on for a little longer, worth living in the muck if it meant he wouldn’t have to keep crawling through it alone. Worth knowing someone would notice if he disappeared. Worth it.</em>
</p><p>Steve let a hand rise and fingers drift into Bucky’s hair, grateful for the contact. Leaned into Bucky’s shoulder, kneading slow circles into his back, and let the tears fall unchecked. </p><p>~*~</p><p>“Hey, Buck,” he murmured a short time later, when their combined breathing had steadied and the air around them didn’t feel so thick. “Do you think you can stand up?”</p><p>Bucky sniffed and leaned back just enough to find Steve’s forehead with his own for a few moments, nodding and sighing quietly. “Think so.”</p><p>Saying it, and doing it, turned out to be two exceptionally different things. Even as he started to rise, Bucky faltered; his knees buckling at the request to rise and leaving him to stumble back toward the floor. Steve caught him with a soft grunt before he could hit the ground again, hauling him close.</p><p>"Almost. I’ve got you, pal. Got you..." Steve murmured as he pushed against the wall with one hand and carefully picked his way back to his feet, managing to keep the other arm around his friend and pull him along until they were upright again. He let Bucky's weight settle in against him, and Steve's one arm around him became two. "I'm taking you to bed with me, okay?"</p><p>Even the vague notion of being left alone at this point was overwhelming, while the reassurance that neither of them would be was equally calming. Bucky's arm tightened around his neck; all the answer Steve needed.</p><p>Sharon was waiting for them as they emerged from the bathroom at last, unobtrusively standing against the wall in the hallway with her head down. Steve made his way to her with Bucky leaning heavily into his side, face buried in his shoulder. He caught her watery gaze with swollen eyes, and realized with a pang of guilt that she had been out here, crying by herself, for who knew how long.</p><p>Sharon could immediately read the apology all over his face, but shook her head to stave off any explanation he might have been working out. She didn’t need one. </p><p>“Could I...?” She gestured vaguely to Bucky, quietly reaching in the direction of his shoulder.</p><p>As much as Steve wanted to let her, instinct told him it was not the best time. “Not now. I'm sorry.”</p><p>She immediately dropped her hands, trusting his judgment. “It's okay. Later.”</p><p>Steve nodded. It wasn't a guarantee–he couldn’t be certain of anything right now–but they could try. </p><p>Sharon beat him into the bedroom, turning down the covers so Steve wouldn't have to do it one-handed. She stepped back to the side and watched Steve lay Bucky down, allowing his body to settle into the mattress under Steve’s own weight until Bucky was ready to let him go.</p><p>“I'll be right back. Thirty seconds.” Steve murmured, low and gentle, kissing his brow.</p><p>Bucky’s hand drifted slowly down the side of his face before hitting the mattress, eyes full of a kind of fear Steve couldn’t quite pinpoint, but then rolled onto his side as Steve stepped away. </p><p>Upon entering the small walk-in closet, he gave himself a once over to survey the aftermath of what he’d just been through. His blue button-up shirt was dotted and streaked with wet marks. He was in dire need of a change of clothing and sleep. Steve only bothered to unbutton the shirt halfway before pulling the whole thing over his head. He tossed aside his shoes, stripped out of socks, discarded his jeans, and threw everything in the direction of the hamper. Clad in only undergarments, he dug around in the dresser drawer and pulled out one of his own pairs of sweatpants.</p><p>Sharon was at the doorway when he reemerged, catching his eyes with a tiny wave.</p><p>Steve turned in her direction, only to have her immediately wave him off. “I'm just here to make sure you get to bed.”</p><p>He heard her, but partially ignored the refusal, choosing instead to step into her space and silently ask for permission. He couldn’t just walk off without doing <em>something</em> and Sharon melted a little, responding the way she knew he was looking for by closing the difference and kissing him tenderly. </p><p>He held her face in his hands for a moment, cherishing her presence and pressing another whispering kiss to her forehead. “Thank you… I’ll keep you posted.”</p><p>Giving his hands a squeeze, she again gestured for him to go. “I’m fine. We can talk later. You told him thirty seconds.”</p><p>“Okay, okay. Later.” With a faint smile, Steve gave her one last searching look before turning away.</p><p>She left for a minute, making her way back to the kitchen. Pouring another glass of water alongside a cup containing Bucky's next dose of medication, she returned to the bedroom and set those items on the nightstand, careful not to draw attention to herself in the stillness.</p><p>In her short absence, Steve had arranged the blankets over Bucky and himself and lay down on his side. In turn, Bucky had scooted close, wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulders and nestled in with his head against Steve’s. He was, physically and emotionally, entirely drained. Little more than a shell of the person Steve saw in him.</p><p>“I’ve got you,” Steve mutedly whispered in a voice that shook, though his arms were relaxed and soothing; encompassing his oldest friend in a warm, comfortable embrace. “I’m here. Try to sleep, okay? Just try to sleep. I’m here.”</p><p>The lax grip Bucky had around Steve’s shoulders tightened, even at a fraction of his strength already managing to effectively shackle him into place.</p><p>He looked every year of his age; pale skin, hollow cheekbones, haggard bags under his eyes that would likely take a few days to fade. His breath rattled, sore and clipped; haunted by the ghosts that never left and the demons he couldn’t always dance with. The hell was still in him, and it would no doubt remain in some form until his dying day.</p><p>And Steve was trembling, stroking the expanse of Bucky’s bare back and fingering his clean, soft hair, tears hitting the pillow with renewed vigor because Bucky had scared him to death. They were lucky this time. There were no certainties. Anything could have happened.</p><p>But, right now? Steve had to remind himself that Bucky was still breathing. And that was enough.</p><p>Sharon backed up to the doorway, hand lingering over the light switch.</p><p>“I love you...” Steve whispered, pressing wet lips to Bucky’s shoulder; long and hard, along the line where skin and metal meet. He fought to release the lump in his throat slowly rather than all at once, in part already dreading and grieving the day he might not be enough to drag his friend back up for air.</p><p>“I love you. I love you. I love you.” His heart in a vice, he whispered that dearest sentiment like a song. He barely knew why, but once the words started to rise out of the depths of him, between every hitch in his breath, he didn't stop it. Bucky was still alive, and he needed to hear it now. For even just a few of the times and years he’d missed. Contingent on nothing, belonging to no one but him.</p><p>“I love you.” There was nothing else he could do. “I love you.”</p><p>Maybe, if Steve could possibly say it enough, those words could pump just enough life back into Bucky’s body and pull him back from the edge. “I love you.”</p><p>Maybe they could save a piece of what had been lost.</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>Voice so hoarse a rusty Brooklyn accent bled through, Bucky’s unsteady voice answered at last. “Love you, too.”</p><p>The vice loosened. “You know how much?”</p><p>A nod. “I do.”</p><p>“I’ve always loved you.”</p><p>“... Always loved you back.”</p><p>Could he stretch this out? “Love you, Buck.”</p><p>The noise Bucky made in the back of his throat was watery and heartbroken. Lifting his head for a moment, quivering lips brushed the spot just below Steve’s ear. “I love you, Stevie.”</p><p>Steve crumbled. “Love you so much...”</p><p>The room went dark. </p>
<h1></h1><p>~*~</p><p>
<em>I still find my father’s shrapnel<br/>
buried beneath my skin<br/>
But I’ve begun to heal in all the places<br/>
your hands have been</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Would you meet me in the middle?<br/>
Could we both stop keeping score?<br/>
There’s a battle I must fight alone:<br/>
it’s you I’m fighting for<br/>
If I call off the battalion,<br/>
break my walls down stone by stone<br/>
Tear down my defenses,<br/>
I could build your heart a home<br/>
And if I did<br/>
would you come home?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wish I found the words when we were seventeen</em><br/>
You were the best of me<br/>
You are the best of me
</p><p>
  <em>~Tyler Blackburn, “Would You Come Home”</em>
</p><p>~*~</p>
<p>Two days crawled by before Steve finally called. She could tell, all by his tone, it was an even longer two days for him than it was for her. </p><p>When they met up, she wouldn’t even let him apologize. She sidestepped the initial attempt and gave him the biggest hug she could manage. Steve sank into her, appreciating the warmth of her arms with a soft sigh.</p><p>“How’s he doing?”</p><p>“He’s managing. Home with Sam and Nat. What could possibly go wrong?”</p><p>“And you?”</p><p>“... I'm okay.”</p><p>“That was pretty intense.”</p><p>The tension in Steve’s shoulders returned. “I wish I could have taken some time to explain before anything happened. It’s been a long time since he’s relapsed like that...”</p><p>“Does that... happen a lot?”</p><p>“Not as much as it used to. We tried hospitalization, therapy, medication... between his therapist, me, and medication, he does the best.”</p><p>“I'd have to agree with that.”</p><p>“Is there anything you want to ask me?” His eyes confirmed he knew she had questions. “About what happened?”</p><p>“Anything?”</p><p>“Anything.”</p><p>“You don’t have to, you know.”</p><p>“I know. But it's important to me that you understand what happened. And why.”</p><p>“I take it that wasn't the easy answer?”</p><p>“The easy answer, as in-?”</p><p>“There's something different between you and him. Something unique, right?”</p><p>“You were there.” His voice was soft. “What would you call it?”</p><p>“I don't know... almost seems like something more than I can measure up to.”</p><p>“Are you worried you'll be in some kind of competition with him if you stay with me?”</p><p>She absently played with the zipper of his jacket. “Will I?”</p><p>“Maybe for some of my time.” He answered honestly, taking her hands. “Never my love. No matter what, you both have your place.”</p><p>~*~</p><p>As they walked back into the apartment, Steve led the way in. They found Sam, Bucky, and Natasha all on the couch, just where he left them.</p><p>When Sam gave him a thumbs-up, Steve let Sharon pass him.</p><p>The look on Bucky’s face told her he knew she had been there the other night. He knew she had witnessed one of the rawest parts of his life, parts he hated himself for letting others see. His wide eyes were both vulnerable and hypervigilant, waiting to see what she would do or say before acting at all.</p><p>“Could I...?” She whispered, opening her arms in question.</p><p>And Bucky, having hardly been outside someone’s arms in the last two days, glanced at Steve behind her, then into her eyes. He sat up a little and offered her his hand. “Yes.”</p><p>She bypassed his hand, kneeling instead on the couch beside him, and wrapped her arms around his head and shoulders. </p><p>Stunned by her bravery and quieted by her gentleness, Bucky’s arm carefully found purchase around her back and pulled her close. </p><p>And, like Steve, like Sam, like Natasha before her, Sharon didn’t say anything at all in those first quiet moments. She just knew. And in her silence, Bucky found understanding. He found acceptance. He found relentless and unequivocal support. </p><p>“If I marry your soulmate someday,” Sharon asked, muffled by the couch cushion, “—do you think we could ever all be a family?”</p><p>Bucky’s breath hitched, the unexpected question throwing him off balance. No one, other than Steve and himself in the intimacy of a moment alone, had ever referred to them as soulmates. And from Steve’s minute reaction behind her, eyebrows popping in surprise and no small rush of affection, Bucky knew that Steve hadn’t told her that. She worked it out all on her own, understood they were somewhat a package deal if her relationship with Steve was to continue.</p><p>And still, she wanted to try.</p><p>“Why...?” He couldn’t help but ask, and Sharon knew the unasked question. <em>Why would you choose to get involved with me, when you could just ignore me?</em></p><p>“Because you’re his family.” She leaned back some and brushed the strands of hair out of his eyes. “I want you to be part of my life too. And I want to be part of yours... if you’ll have me.”</p><p>He couldn’t help it, a smile crept across his face and into his eyes, lopsided and bright and damp. Who knew that falling apart would pave the way to putting him back together? But God, if everyone he knew kept up this pattern of dragging him into their world, he was never going to breathe normally ever again.</p><p>“... I’m not gonna know what to do with all this family around me.” he quipped softly.</p><p>Sharon’s eyes lit up. “So, a solid maybe?” </p><p>Bucky tugged her back into another hug, shoulders shaking a few moments with true laughter. “Yes.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Much love, darlings! Imma go sleep for about five years now.<br/>~ Ari</p></blockquote></div></div>
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